


When You Aren't Looking

by yukiawison



Category: Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: F/M, I also love soft kiddos being soft and in love, I love Cole, LOWKEY CONFESSIONS, Tea Parties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-08-14 13:48:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16493756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yukiawison/pseuds/yukiawison
Summary: Cole draws Gilbert when he's staring at Anne. Anne didn't know Gilbert looked at her like that.





	When You Aren't Looking

**Author's Note:**

> Heya, I'm posting new fic every day this month. So keep an eye out here and/or on my Tumblr if you're interested.

Anne had been pestering Marilla about her tea party menu all week. Naturally, pestering was Marilla’s word. Anne preferred “diligent reminding” or “dedicated attention to detail.” She couldn’t help it. This was the first tea party since the previous tea party’s fiasco, and Anne was going to get everything right this time. 

“I’ve collected the things I need for the finger sandwiches,” she said, Saturday afternoon. She’d already been in the kitchen for hours, unsupervised, apart from Marilla’s frequent checking in, and was proud of her progress thus far. “The cheese and ham and cucumber slices...and oh, there are the scones!”

She rushed to the oven as Marilla watched her from the doorway. 

“Now, Anne, don’t get carried away.”

“The scones are lemon and thyme. I think it will be an enchanting combination of flavors, don’t you?” 

Marilla frowned. “Why now, I suppose it isn’t the most traditional of combinations, but they seem to have turned out just fine.”

Anne looked down at the golden tops of her steaming baked goods proudly. 

“Diana and Cole should be here soon. All I need to do is finish the sandwiches and then move everything to my serving trays.”

Anne had set the table that morning: smooth beige table cloth, pine cones and holly arranged into a centerpiece, Marilla’s nice tea cups and platters with gold trimming that Anne had sworn on her life to protect, and neatly folded napkins. Anne set out her cooled scones and assembled the sandwiches. She laid out the food on the table. 

“Well, you’ve done a lovely job Anne,” Marilla said sincerely, and Anne beamed. 

“I think a tea party is just what we need,” she said. After the shock of Diana’s near “end of childhood”, the persistent injustices of Cole’s treatment at school, and Anne’s tragic loss of her hair, they needed something to lift their spirits. 

Diana and Cole were impressed with the table. Anne took their coats and led them inside with her best impression of elegance and grace. Diana beamed at Anne’s centerpiece and told her the whole table looked like something out of a storybook. 

Anne sat them down and did her duty as hostess. 

The three of them liked to play adults sometimes, when all it meant was an afternoon of fancy things and mock seriousness. The game didn’t last long. They dissolved into giggles when Anne called Diana _ the beautiful and distinguished Ms. Barry  _ as she offered her some tea. 

Cole smiled one of his small but supremely happy smiles that made Anne feel particularly satisfied when they were directed at her. He took another bite of his scone. 

“Show us some of your sketches, why don’t you?” Anne said. “I know you have your sketchbook with you.”

“That’s a great idea,” Diana chimed in. “If you don’t mind sharing, Cole.”

The kinship between the three of them was a relatively new development. Anne remembered the surprise written across Cole’s face when she led Diana and the other girls (save the snobbish Josie Pye) to sit with him at lunchtime. It brought up feelings from not all that long ago, the burning shame of being whispered about and ridiculed, of no one but Diana daring to share lunchtime with the orphan trash. Anne remembered tensing up every muscle in her body, like she was preparing herself for a fight, every time she entered the Avonlea School in the early days. She remembered how exhausting it had been to stay constantly on guard. It was exhausting but necessary, if you didn’t want them to see you cry. 

She’d consulted Diana and Ruby before she invited Cole to the clubhouse. When they agreed with her assessment that he was a kindred spirit, she made him pinky swear to protect their fortress of friendship. She could see her own seriousness staring back at her when he agreed. 

“They aren’t very good,” Cole was telling Diana. He tugged his sweater sleeves further over his hands as if they were so unskilled that they needed hiding. “I need more time to practice. But if you’d really like...”

“We’d be honored,” Anne cut in. “Wouldn’t we Diana?”

“Deeply honored,” Diana echoed. 

Cole smiled. “It’s in my coat pocket. I’ll fetch it.” 

Anne and Diana nodded attentively and he stood. When he returned, he handed it over the table to Anne, who took it with extreme care and placed it between her and Diana. 

“I like drawing landscapes,” he said, as Anne opened the first page to a lovely drawing of a farmhouse and expansive fields. She and Diana took turns marveling at Cole’s detailed studies of Avonlea places: the schoolhouse’s exterior early in the morning, when deer weren’t scared away by the students and the sunlight created marvelous shadows; the creek in the wood, newley frozen over but still bursting with life in its cracks; and the clubhouse, looking enchanting and mossy as ever. 

“Although, lately I’ve been trying portraits.”

Diana turned the page to a lovely sketch of herself. In it she was laughing, and Anne had to stop and really stare at the drawing because it was so close to the real Diana, not entirely in her physical representation, although he’d done a splendid job on that as well, but in the feeling Anne got when Diana laughed. Every bit of joy and fondness and deep pang of friendship was there, on paper. Anne could see as much about the artist as she could about his subject. 

“That’s me!” Diana exclaimed, after a moment of held breath. “I’ve never seen myself like that,” she said, quietly. 

“What do you think?” Cole replied, nervous  and not meeting their eyes. Anne watched Diana as she gathered the words to answer. 

“I think it’s wonderful. Thank you,” she said, smiling at him in the way that brought out her dimples. 

“It’s beautiful,” Anne said, and Cole looked up at her briefly. His face was flushed slightly, and Anne realized he wasn’t used to compliments. His art was something to hide: from Mr. Phillips’ ridicule, from Billy Andrews’ bullying, and from everyone in Avonlea who looked at him and thought him strange. 

Diana turned the page. There were sketches of the girls at school: Diana, Tillie, Jane, and Ruby gossiping and smiling and huddling together at lunch time. They turned the pages through numerous sketches of their classmates, everyone who wasn’t nasty at least, including a whole page of Anne drawings. 

There was Anne keenly focused on her school work. There was Anne telling a story with grand hand gestures. There she was looking determined and brave in front of the class, probably during the spelling competition. He’d drawn her with her braids and her hairstyle with ribbons, and even her short hair. There were more drawings of Anne than anyone else. They spanned several pages of poses and expressions, and Anne was about to say something when she turned the page again and was caught off guard. 

Cole had drawn Gilbert Blythe. The sketch of him was beside the last of the group of Anne sketches. Gilbert was sitting at his desk at school, elbow on the table. His chin was leaning gently in his palm and his mouth was curled into a small smile. Cole had captured him effortlessly, from the dark tousle of his curls to the slouch of his shoulders. Anne hadn’t seen Gilbert like that though. His expression was so soft and open. He looked distracted, and almost romantic. 

“I’ve only done that one of Gilbert,” Cole said, and Anne blinked, realizing she was still staring at the sketch. “I was meaning to draw you again, Anne. But I kept noticing him looking at you, and I hadn’t drawn any of the boys at school yet so I...” Cole hesitated. “You don’t think it’s strange, do you?”

“He was looking at me?” Anne said at the same time as Diana said. “It’s not strange at all.”

Now Diana and Cole were staring at her. They looked at each other briefly as Anne’s face flushed. 

“I mean, I don’t care. Why would I care one bit what Gilbert Blythe does with his eyes?”

“I just thought he was an interesting subject. I don’t know why he was looking at you so intently,” Cole said. 

“Intently,” Anne repeated, taken aback, though the drawing clearly indicated the careful intent with which Gilbert was looking. 

“These really are lovely, Cole. Thank you for showing us,” Diana said, glancing over at the still flushed Anne. 

“Yes, thank you,” Anne added. 

“You can have one if you want,” Cole said, gesturing to the sketches. His hands had found their way out of the depths of his sleeves. 

“Really? We can?” Diana’s face lit up. 

“Of course. They’re all practice anyway,” he said. 

“You should take that one, Anne,” Diana continued, pointing to the page.

“Of Gilbert?” Anne exclaimed. 

“Of you,” Diana said, with a smirk. “The sketch of you beside the one of Gilbert.”

“Oh,” Anne said, feeling her face heat up again. “Right, of course.”

“You can take the whole page if you want, Anne,” Cole said. “If you don’t want to split them up,” he added. 

“Well, I wouldn’t want to rip the paper down the middle,” Anne said. “It seems an awful shame to do something like that. And since they’re on the same page it’s like they’re a set...so,” she trailed off. 

The Gilbert drawing was good, and Gilbert was her friend. It wasn’t strange to be interested in keeping it. There wasn’t any harm in that. It didn’t mean anything worth suspicious, knowing looks.

“Well, I’ll take this one,” Diana said, flipping to the page with the drawing of her laughing. “And I’ll keep it forever.”

Cole laughed and Diana tore the drawing out of the notebook with care. 

“Your turn,” Diana said, handing over the sketchbook. 

Anne turned to the drawing of her and of Gilbert, tore it out, and tucked it into her dress pocket before they could talk any more about it. The conversation changed, the contents of Cole’s sketchbook fading from their minds as the daylight began to fade from the sky. 

She saw them out when they’re party was finished. Cole stopped her in the doorway. 

“You won’t show Gilbert, will you?” He asked, hesitantly. 

She looked at him with confusion.

“The drawing...” he continued. “I’m not really friends with the other boys at school, but he’s nice to me, at least. Well, really he’s nice to everyone.”

“When he isn’t being arrogant or competitive,” Anne cut in, rolling her eyes. 

Cole cleared his throat. “I wouldn’t want him to think I was strange for drawing him. I wouldn’t want him to convince the other boys that I’m always watching them.”

“I don’t think it’s strange,” Anne said. 

“I didn’t expect you to, Anne. You’re lovely and understanding. I don’t want to make myself seem more different than I already am.” 

Anne wanted to say that Gilbert was different too, and Diana and Marilla and Matthew. All of the most important people in her life were perceived as too strange or sad. They all ignored what the mean-spirited, backward people in Avonlea had to say. Anne would never tell Gilbert that she included him on this list. She would never tell him that when he set off on the steamer to see the world, she thought the world of _him._ She thought he was special and brave and kind. 

“I won’t tell Gilbert,” she said instead. 

***

Roughly 15 minutes later, as Anne was clearing the table, Gilbert Blythe showed up on her doorstep. 

“I’m sorry,” he said when she opened the door. Since the initial hair pulling fiasco, Gilbert Blythe had become increasingly apt in the art of apology.

“What are you apologizing for? You just got here.” Anne said. Gilbert’s dark hair was dusted in snow and his nose was bright red. He’d evidently forgotten his scarf.

“I’m sorry to be bothering you. Marilla said you were having a party and I...well, Matthew is giving Bash some pointers about farm work and I had to show him the way to Green Gables so I’m here. Marilla told me to go in because of the cold. Am I interrupting your party?” She detected a hint of hurt feelings in the way his voice tilted and shoulders tensed.

“No, my  honored guests have departed already. Come in,” she said. “It was a tea party,” she added. “With Diana and Cole.” She thought to add that she didn’t think he’d be interested, and had therefore elected not to extend an invitation, not that she didn’t want him there.

Gilbert’s shoulders relaxed. “I’m sure it was lovely,” he said.

“It was, quite. I pride myself on my hosting capabilities. You may have me beat in arithmetic, but I’m sure I could best you in a competition of elegance and refinery.”

“I’m sure you could,” Gilbert said. 

He stepped inside and she took his coat. He stood, tall and shifty in the doorway for a moment before she spoke again. 

“I have some scones left over. And I could make tea?”

“Don’t trouble yourself.”

“Nonsense,” she said, turning abruptly to the kitchen and assuring he was following as she set to work preparing a kettle. “The scones are just there,” she said, pointing to the plate she’d left on the counter. He took one and stood awkwardly by the counter as Anne put on the kettle. The few times he’d been in the house at Green Gables he’d moved through the places she considered most comfortable and inviting as if he were afraid to touch anything.

Anne wished for a Green Gables Gilbert could exist in with ease. She imagined him at the kitchen table across from her, spreading jam on toast and quizzing her for the spelling competition. She imagined Gilbert sinking into the sofa in the living room or perched on the loveseat when the sunlight hit the window just so and everything was golden and languidly happy.

Of course she would never tell Gilbert any of this. 

“This is amazing, Anne,” he said of the scone and she smiled. 

“I told you I was an excellent hostess. The perfect hostess has the perfect menu.

“I’m sure Diana and Cole were grateful.”

“They were.”

The kettle whistled and she took it off of the stove.

“How is work on the farm going, with Bash?” She asked as she located a clean tea cup.

“It has its challenges,” Gilbert said, running a hand through his hair. “Bash still hasn’t acclimated to the Avonlea climate. And it feels different to be back here without my father. But I’m glad we’re home. I missed Avonlea, and the people.”

“The people,” she repeated. She’d found a tea cup and was in the process of pouring. When she looked up and saw Gilbert looking right at her with the same quiet intensity Cole had captured on paper. The dreamy, far-away look was even more commanding in person, and Anne didn’t realize she’d spilled tea on the counter until Gilbert’s expression shifted to one of concern.

“Anne?”

“Sorry! Distractions, I’ll just--” she looked around frantically for a cloth and then Gilbert was beside her, with the dish rag she’d left on his side of the counter. Their hands brushed as he sopped up the spilled tea and she shifted the saucer out of the way. The both jumped back from the contact and the picture in Anne’s pocket fell out of her pocket and onto the floor.

Of course he was the one to pick it up, and of course it had opened to reveal its contents, because nothing in Anne Shirley-Cuthbert’s life was simple.

He stared at it for a moment too long, and Anne wanted to rip it from his hands but couldn’t, because she was scared of ruining Cole’s work.

“These are beautiful,” he said at last, voice hushed. He didn’t move to hand it back, so Anne just watched him look at the drawings, dark eyes scanning them slowly and brows gradually furrowing. “Did you draw these?” He looked up.

“Cole did,” she said, and then instantly regretted her big, honest mouth. “Don’t tell him I told you. He doesn’t want any of the boys to know he draws people in class.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Gilbert said seriously. He handed the drawing back. “Though I’m flattered.”

“He draws me more than you,” she said, teasingly. “That’s the only one of you.”

“And now you have it,” Gilbert said.

Her grip tightened on the paper. She was looking down at the Gilbert of pencil shadows and sketched lines, but it occurred to her that she missed so many glances and smiles and amused eyebrow raising from the flesh and blood Gilbert. She missed him every time she blinked. She missed him every time her face flushed and she felt on instinct that she had to look away. Anne was tired of looking away. Anne wanted to see what Cole saw. She looked up at him.

“Cole said you were staring at me when he drew it. Do you stare at me, Gilbert?”

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“You didn’t answer my question.” 

The snow had melted into his hair and made it droop over his forehead chaotically. “Sometimes I do,” he said quietly.

“Why?”

“Because you’re my favorite person to look at, Anne,” he said. “And I missed you when I was gone. And I’m making up for lost time.”

They were looking at each other now, really. Anne knew her face was as red as her hair. She knew her freckles would look like pox and her eyes would be big and watery, but she didn’t look away. Neither did Gilbert. 

“I missed you too,” she said.

When Marilla came in to tell them that Bash and Matthew were finished and that Anne needed to clean up her mess, they were still staring at each other. Anne made Gilbert take a scone for Bash and promised she’d make him a real cup of tea next time. He nodded, and thanked her for her hospitality.

She hung the drawing up in her room, across from the window so the light would hit it first thing in the morning and she would remember what it felt like to be looked at like that.

She would remember how warm it felt.


End file.
